


Class Clown

by adoorless



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M, Mental Illness, Reddie, Theyre gay, Well see, also mike wheeler is here, another personality, did richie, hes richies horrible personality, might be nsfw later, pennywise is kinda? there, therapist eddie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoorless/pseuds/adoorless
Summary: Dr. Eddie Kaspbrak has been a therapist in a psychiatric ward for 3 years now, and he likes to claim that he’s dealt with anything and everything. But when a man with DID is admitted to be his patient, Eddie learns he’s been wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is roughly based off a story I read a couple years back called The King & I by Terminally Introverted. Brilliant writter. not entirely sure where this’ll end up but let’s see how this goes

Years of experience working in a psychiatric ward as a lead therapist made Eddie believe he had seen it all. In fact, he prided himself in it. Not much scared the young man anymore, and if you were friends with him you knew that. Eddie could watch horror movie after horror movie without flinching, walk through a halloween haunted house without batting an eye. Eddie’d starred the most dangerous thing on the planet in the eye on multiple occasions, and challenged it: a man, losing control of his mind. 

In his office, Eddie has had to talk three people down from suicide, he’s had patients physically assault him, he’s had a man who claimed to be God Himself, he’s been completely adored and completely ignored. His small cozy office had also seen it all.

At least, that’s what Eddie had thought.

It was the horrible _horrible_ laughter that lured him out of his office that night, it bounced off the walls endlessly, high pitched and manufactured. The cackles where humorless, and sounded like they were being read from a script. Which in no way made sense, how could a laugh be scripted? And as Eddie wandered down the hallway toward the chaos he found out how haunting a laugh could be.

The sound of it was not the only haunting part about the laugh, it was the source. A tall, pale man with a disturbingly large smile was the cause. His hair was jet black, greasy and matted to his forehead, though Eddie could not tell if it was due to sweat of lack of a shower. Either way it made him mentally cringe in distaste. 

Eddie found himself settling next to one of his coworkers, watching the scene playout in front of him. The man hardly seemed to be pulling, but the orderlies holding him were struggling to keep the man in place. The laughing continued, and the man’s brown eyes swept across the room, unfocused but with a glint of amusement behind them. He portrayed himself as overly confident, like he knew things the rest of them did not.

“Mr. Uris.” Eddie greeted as he stopped beside another therapist, Stanley. Stan only hummed in response, and a quiet set over the two as they observed the situation. Somehow, the man was still laughing, and wasnt even breathless, just as loud as when Eddie first heard him. Looking at the man for too long made a sick feeling in Eddies stomach rise to his chest and he forced himself to tear his eyes away, instead focusing on Stanley,

“Know anything?” 

Stan shakes his head and sighs, “Showed up laughing, hasn’t stopped since.” 

That alone does not surprise Eddie, he’s had plenty of patients break down into hysterics, but this, it felt different to him. This wasn’t a nervous breakdown, it was as if artificial laughter was the only sound the man knew how to make, and it looked to be something he enjoyed. 

Eddie decided he was done standing around and stepped forward to coax the man down from whatever this was, 

“Sir-” Eddie was cut off when a nurse pushed past him, 

“That’s not going to work Dr. Kaspbrak, we’re going to have to sedate him.”

“But he’s not being aggressive!” Eddie argues, he hates using sedatives to solve these things. He’s always felt it was like giving up, knocking a patient out before even trying to calm them down naturally. In a building filled with professional therapists especially made it feel like giving up. 

The nurse sighs and gestures toward a couple standing close to the door. The man, who looks to be in his late 40s, is holding a rag to his arm. The rag is stained a light red, blood. Eddie’s gaze whips back to the man, whose eyes are trained on Eddie, and he looks smug. He hurt that man, and he’s _proud of it._

Eddie feels himself stepping back and nodding in agreement. But he doesn’t agree, they should at least talk to the man first. _Let me try and help, even if it’s for only a minute. Let me try_ , stays on the tip of his tongue, unsaid. Instead of speaking up, Eddie makes his way toward the tired-looking couple, not wanting to witness the needle being stabbed into the man’s arm. But he hears it, a hiss of pain, the laughing dies down to giggles. Then; silence.

When he reaches the pair Eddie sees that the woman is crying silent tears and the man only looks angry. The woman looks completely out of it, eyes far away, fidgeting her fingers on the hem of her jacket. And when Eddie takes a deep breath in preparation for the conversation sure to come he smells it. Alcohol. 

Almost immediately the term _Functioning Alcoholic_ pops into his head and Eddie stuffs it down, he needs to stop diagnosing people who aren’t here for it. Eddie doesn’t even know if she drinks regularly, maybe this is her first time drinking. He doubts that. To change his train of thought Eddie sticks his hand out to the man,

“Dr. Eddie Kaspbrak. Are you here to admit him?” Eddie asks, glancing over his shoulder in reference to the hysterical man, and sees him being unconsciously carried down the corridor. 

The older man takes Eddie’s hand, nodding, his expression almost ashamed, “Wentworth Tozier, and yes, that’s our-”

“Richie’s not always like this.” The woman interrupts quickly, “He-he’s a good guy, I swear it.”

Wentworth scoffs and speaks in a heavily annoyed tone, “And this is my wife, Maggie Tozier.” At that Eddie moves his hand to being held out for Maggie, who ignores it.

“He has that, um that illness, oh what is it?” Maggie asks herself, still looking at where ‘Richie’ had disappeared to, “Ah yes! Dissociative Identity Disorder!”

Eddie nods along, grateful for the diagnosis, “When was he diagnosed?”

Wentworth rolls his eyes, “Richard has been on the crazy side his whole life, but a couple years back he snapped and was hospitalized for about six months.”

Eddie holds in a cringe at the man’s use of the word crazy, “Does he take any medication?” 

Wentworth shakes his head, “He used to, when he got hospitalized, but he stopped taking them not long after. And we can’t afford to refill pill containers he’ll never open.”

Eddie gives him a small empathetic smile. He’s dealt with plenty of patients that refuse to medicate, even going extreme lengths at times to avoid swallowing a capsule. There’s been people who slip the pill into their sleeves, or hide it under their tongue, and even some who would gulp it down only to throw it up later in the bathroom. He hoped Richie wouldn’t put up too much of a fight with taking his medication while under Eddie’s care.

“When-when he’s on his meds all he does is sleep and-and _smoke_ and it’s just horrible. But when he’s not on his meds that-that _thing_ always takes over.” Maggie adds.

That, makes Eddie frown. The way Maggie emphasized smoke makes Eddie believe it's more than just tobacco cigarettes. And if Richie does have DID smoking marijuana definitely is not helping keep episodes at bay. On top of that, if Richie is addicted to whatever substance he’s smoking, tobacco or other, Eddie will have to help him through his withdrawals. Instead of asking about the smoking Eddie focusses a question from her second statement.

“That thing?” Eddie asks, “His other personality?” Wentworth sighs in annoyance, and Maggie nods solemnly,

“He has more than just that.” Maggie explains, “But when he’s mad, that’s what comes out. And his temper just keeps getting shorter.” 

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on Maggie, who has glistening eyes, more tears ready to spill. But out of the corner of his vision he can see Wentworth give an exasperated huff of breath in Maggie’s direction. 

“Maggie.” Wentworth says slowly, “I think you should go wait out in the car, I’ll talk to Dr. Kaspbrak.” 

Maggie whips her head around to glare at Wentworth, “Went he’s not-”

“Go.”

Maggie visibly slumps, defeated. She gives Eddie a tight smile, one that’s obviously forced and reaches her hand out. Almost as thoigh she was going to touch his arm or maybe pull him into a half hug but thinks better of it. Instead dropping her hand to her side and only saying, “Take care of my son, please.”

Eddie gives her a rehearsed smile, “I will.” 

She grins honestly at that and turns on her heel, giving Wentworth one last look. As Maggie walks away to the exit Eddie watches her go. Wentworth keeps looking straight ahead, studying Eddie closely. Eddie can sense his critical gaze boring into the side of his face, and when he turns to look at Wentworth his eyes are filled with judgment.

“It’s not real. His so called, condition, Richard just uses it as an excuse to get away with hurting people.” Wentworth says, gesturing to the rag he still has held to his arm. Eddie nods his head, though he’s disbelieving. What he witnessed in the lobby not even 10 minutes ago definitely looked real. And if it was all an act there’s a lot more going on with Richie then he has the paycheck to work with.

“Please, just fix him. Set him straight. Lord knows I’ve tried and failed.” Wentworth continues and Eddie gives him the same practiced smile he showed Maggie,

“I’ll do the best I can, Sir.” That seems to satisfy the man as he steps away from Eddie, making his exit. As Wentworth moves to the doors Eddie follows his steps with his gaze, sighing in preparation for what was soon to come with his new patient. Eddie was deciding he’d better leave, so he can get a full nights rest for tomorrow when a quiet voice peeps up from behind him,

“What was so fuh-funny?”

Eddie turns around to find Bill Denbrough, one of his patients, looking down at Eddie with heavy confusion. “It was nothing Bill. Go back your room, it’s almost curfew.” Bill only blinks at Eddie a couple times, 

“He woke up Guh-Georgie.” 

Eddie looks Bill up and down, his eyes are bleary, like he really had just woken up. Any indication that “Georgie” is here with them is absent, Bill’s hands are cupped behind his back. Not stuck out to the side like he’s holding a small child’s hand. By now Eddie has learned to pick his words carefully around them topic of “Georgie”.

“You should get yourself back to your room, so Georgie isn't alone.” Eddie speaks cautiously, he knows Bill’s not completely with him at the moment. 

Bill blinks at him again, his gaze is unfocused and seems to be looking right through Eddie. 

“Mr. Denbrough?”

Nothing.

“Bill?”

Again, nothing.

Eddie reaches forward to touch Bill’s arm,

“Bill.”

Bill’s stare snaps up, his eyes meeting Eddie’s. Hesitantly Bill nods his head and turns around, his movements sluggish and tired. As he makes his way back to his room Eddie follows a yard or so behind Bill, intent on grabbing his stuff from his office and getting home for and early night.

 

Richie Tozier has, sadly, grown used to waking up in unfamiliar places. Usually only after a transition into _It_. He’s woken up in alleyways, woken up chained to a chair in the interrogation room of a police station. On multiple occasions. Richie’s woken up in a bed that’s not his, naked and used, with no recollection of what happened. Walking away with bruises and marks that sometimes stay for weeks. 

And this wasn’t Richie’s first time waking up in a washed out room that smells of off-brand bleach cleaner. He’s woken up in hospitals plenty of times, this though, was the first time that we woke up to a man jabbing at his face with a magazine and mumbling about a “stolen bed”. 

“Get up, you nuh-nuh-nuisance.” 

Richie’s reflex is to snap his hand up and snatch the paper out of the man’s hand, but he can’t because his hand is strapped tight to the side of the bed, causing him to groan. He doesn’t want to imagine what _It_ had to do to get him here. 

“Muh-move! You stole Guh-Georgie’s bed!” 

Before he blows up at the man Richie takes multiple deep breaths, something he’d learned from a past therapist to control his anger. He doesn’t want to switch back into his other personality so soon after waking up freshly out of it.

“Hey! Luh-listen to me!”

“Okay kid, I don’t know who Georgie is but I didn’t exactly choose to be here-“

“Mr. Denbrough, you aren’t permitted to be in your room right now.” A new voice says, pitched but steady.

Both of the men turn their heads toward the newcomer, who stands in the doorway. The first thing Richie notices is the man’s eyes, large and a soft hazel brown. Next, he notices his simple professional outfit, topped off with a lanyard name tag, like a cherry. The thought makes Richie smirk, _the guy sure does look like a tasty dessert_. Richie tries to push that thought away before he gets a lecter, _Stop it you perv, don’t be thinking nasty thoughts about this guy. Who’s probably your new therapist. Jesus._

Richie smiles at that voice, the only personality he willingly invites into his everyday mind, Mike. Who, luckily, never seems to feel the need to fully take over. But he does keep in the back of his thoughts, making sure Richie stays in check. Well at least, as _in check_ as Richie Tozier can be.

The Denbrough guy drops his head, nodding at his feet, “Yuh-yes, Eddie. Sorry.”

Eddie takes a step into the room, moving aside to make room for Denbrough to leave,

“You are forgiven.” Eddie says as the other man walks past him, Denbrough awkwardly holding out his hand as he does so. Eddie watches him go before softly closing the door.

“Sorry about that Mr. Tozier, I still have to speak to him about sharing a room with you.” Eddie smiles as he says this, making his way to Richie’s bed, undoing his restraints. Richie’s first instinct is to ask who the fuck Georgie is, and if this was his bed why on Earth would he be taking it and become Denbrough’s new roommate? But before Richie can say anything Eddie is introducing himself,

“I’m Dr. Eddie Kaspbrak, I’ll be your therapist during your stay here.” He continues to undo the straps on Richie’s feet, “You can call me Dr. Kaspbrak, Dr. K or Eddie. Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.” 

There’s an itch in the back of Richie’s throat that wants to respond with _Or I can call you baby_ , but Mike’s voice pipes up saying, 

_Richie, he’s your fucking therapist. Don’t make yourself into a burden for the guy._

Richie immediately responds with _I already am a burden Michael._

He hears Mike’s laugh, _Don’t be so self centered Richard, this is his job._ Richie wants to growl at him, but keeps himself from doing so. Instead of responding how he _wants_ to, Richie exclaims, 

“Eddie-bear it is!” _That definitely didn’t avoid the ‘don’t be a burden’ idea,_ Mike sighs. 

“Not that. You sound like my mother.” Eddie unexpectedly snaps, and Richie can’t help but laugh. Eddie’s voice isn’t necessarily hateful, Richie can actually almost hear concern in his retort.

Before Richie thinks it through he dramatically cries out, “Eddsie buddy, don’t be like that.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, then studies Richie closely, “So, do you remember anything?” He asks.

“Nada.” Richie, sits up, smile falling. He knew the conversation would end up here but that doesn’t make him hate it any less. His stupid personalities always get him into trouble, especially _It_. Richie would much rather forget he even has them. _That’s impossible, dumbass,_ Mike grumbles.

Eddie hums in acknowledgement, “Your parents brought you in. You’d cut up your dad pretty bad. And you wouldn’t stop laughing.”

There’s a look in Eddie’s eyes that Richie has come to learn as people remembering meeting _It_ , for some it’s disgust, like his father. Or for his mother it’s fear, with his best friend Beverly, it’s worry. With Eddie it seems to be… determination?

“Oh,” Richie isn’t entirely sure what to say, “Sorry you had to see that.” Mike takes control for a moment to say.

Eddie smiles softly at Richie, “You don’t have to apologize, you’re here for a reason.” _See, Mike gloats_ , _it’s his job to deal with your craziness._ Richie scoffs aloud at Mike’s cockiness. Which causes Eddie to raise an eyebrow at him. Richie awkwardly looks down and only shrugs. 

Eddie stands, before giving Richie one more smile and saying, “I’ll let you get settled in then, you have an appointment with me tomorrow. I’ll see you there and we can talk more then,” before making his leave, shutting the door behind him.

Richie sighs and flops back onto his bed, _He was cute,_ he offers. 

_Please, for the love of God stop thinking about him as cute, sicko._ Mike shakes his head.

Richie can’t help but laugh, smiling to himself and closing his eyes. Drifting off into a fun-loving conversation with Mike.

 

Richie learned that his roommate Denbrough’s name is Bill, and he has some sort of schizophrenic _thing_ going on. Because Georgie is apparently his younger brother, who sticks by his side constantly. But Richie never sees him, the only way he can know if Bill is seeing him is either his hand held out to hold “Georgie’s” or if he’s talking in soft whispers to himself. 

Richie was having a good day, he’d been sitting on his bed reading an old frayed copy of Harry Potter, a book series he meant to read in his childhood but never got to. This is the 12th time in his lifetime he has attempted to read the first book. Richie either gets bored or distracted, then forgets everything he read and has to restart. 

This time in particular he was interrupted by Bill snatching the book out of his hand and demanding he get out of the way so “Georgie” can take a nap. Richie tried his best to ignore him, he really did. But now Bill’s holding onto his forearm and Richie’s patience is deteriorating. 

“Please just leave me be.” Richie practically begs, he does not want to deal with a transition right now. And if Bill keeps this up he knows his anger will boil over. Richie pulls up the sleeves of his shirt, digging his nails into the skin. Praying that’ll keep him grounded.

“Yuh-you aren’t my roommate. Guh-Georgie is. So just _leave_.” Bill says as he gives Richie’s arm a hard pull, yanking him off the bed. 

And that was it. That was the end of Richie’s control, quickly _It_ starts to take over his mind. Richie curses himself for for not being able to stop his anger from rising and wishes he-

_Click._

Pennywise rolls it’s shoulders, feels good to take control again. At the moment it appreciates the long lanky limbs of it’s cage of a body, Richie. Because right now the height allows it to stand over Bill, even if it is only an inch, not even. It feels power in the view. Pennywise lets out a loud laugh, gripping on to Bill’s wrist, making sure to painfully twist it in the process. Bill makes a crying whimpering sounds and it makes Pennywise smile, _pathetic._

It hears that obnoxious voice, Michael speak up, _Please stop this. You-_ Pennywise pushes him out of the headspace, cackling. It’s focus lands right back on the auburn haired man in front of him, tightening his grip. Bill cries out again, his available hand clutching onto Pennywise’s. And it notices a small, hideous woven bracelet on the man’s bony wrist.

Without thought Pennywise reaches for it, unsure of why but it must have it. As soon as Bill notices it’s goal he pulls himself away from it, eyes wide with anger and fear. 

_Curse this weakling body I’m trapped in,_ Pennywise thinks, if only the human Richie was stronger. It could get away with much _much_ more. Pennywise grumbles, giving Bill one last hungry glare, in which it gets a livid stare back causing it to let out another barking laugh.

_Good luck with this one Richard._

_Click._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the little wait, I changed up quite a bit of the chapter because it felt too rushed. Still kind of does, but I'm ready to move on in the story so here we are

At the beginning of Richie’s fourth day at the psychiatric ward he realizes that there are three major reasons why he would rather jump out the window of his tiny shared room and die than be there another day and one huge reason why he’d willingly stay for the rest of his life. 

Reason 1 for breaking the fuck out of this hellhole:

The building itself rubs Richie the wrong way. The bare walls of his living quarters, the uncomfortable beds, the shitty food he had to eat everyday. Sure, the recreational area wasn’t bad, they had fun-ish shit to do there. But Richie didn’t like having to be around the other patients, it made him feel like we was herded up like cattle. And Richie never liked cows. Mostly though, it was the long, neverending labyrinth of white halls. Everytime Richie had to go anywhere he’d end up getting one bitch of a headache.

Sometimes that was because of how bright the halls were, there were windows up on the ceiling that let in natural light. Which yes, in a way helped Richie from completely losing his mind. But it’s not a plus in the early morning when he’s being shooed out of his bed for breakfast and having a strong inkling to smoke a pack.

Other times it was the people he had to pass while walking in those hallways. Some of them looked right through Richie, their eyes somewhere else. Some refused to even look at him, and a few had even stared him down with pure hatred. Clearly _It_ had made a wonderful first impression to his fellow patients. Overall interacting with people in the hospital was awkward and made him dread leaving his bed every morning. 

What Richie hated most about the endless corridors was how he always got lost. Sure, there are maps on the walls, and signs pointing him where to go, but his dumbass still managed to get lost every time. Richie hated being lost, absolutely fucking hated it. He hated feeling helpless, and he _really_ hated when a worker would start walking in step with him and ask him if he knew where he was going. Richie was stubborn, and even though he had no clue where he was 90% of the time, he was determined to get where he needed to go all on his own.

Richie despised the whole building, every inch of it except one cozy office. 

Reason 2 for wanting to smash his way through the lobby windows:

Richie’s schedule sucked. At the asscrack of dawn a nurse would barge into the room to wake himself and Bill up, shove their respective meds down their throats then take the two of them to breakfast. Richie couldn’t quite remember the woman’s name, something that starts with an S, and he doesn’t care enough to ask her.

Group therapy was a _wonderful_ hour of Richie’s day, not the sarcasm. One which he usually spends sitting silent in a cold foldable chair, Richie took that time to discuss with Mike what escape plan he thought would work best. Mike shuts him down immediately telling Richie, _This is good for you. Good for us. Why do you always have to be so difficult?_ His thoughts will be interrupted by the group therapist practically yelling for his attention. The whole thing makes Richie want to vomit in annoyance.

He’d only been through two full days of his schedule and Richie was already bored with the repetitiveness of his day. The same thing all day every day made Richie restless, _That’s probably why you had more absences than presences in highschool,_ Mike remarks. Richie wishes it was at least alternating daily activities, but no, it was the same thing each day. And he guesses it’ll be the same week after week. 

Richie wanted to ditch every preplanned thing this place had set up for him, except one hour. 

Reason 3 for wanting to use a plastic spoon to tunnel himself through a brick wall:

The people here drove him crazy. Some would argue, “But Richie! You’re already clinically insane!” and Richie would roll his eyes at that. Because he’ll be the first to admit he has a couple screws missing but these people make him want to pull out all his hair, strand by strand. Mike keeps suggesting he at least try and make friends but Richie outright refuses, he’s never been one to make forced friends. And he sure as hell isn’t starting now. 

The nurses and doctors really get on Richie’s nerves. It makes his skin prickle that some of them look at him with deep pity, or concern, or even fear. Yeah, Richie is by now used to those looks, but when it’s someone he knows for sure has seen much worse than him it gives him a whole new feeling of shame. 

There’s one person in particular Richie has grown to hate with all of his being. That person being Henry Bowers, who he’d met his second day during group therapy. The guy was a fair height, with the ugliest hair Richie had ever seen. As in, he’d put in one of those _Buzzfeed_ articles about The Worst Haircuts Ever Given. Richie had no idea why he was in the place, but he could guess it had something to do with psychotic tendencies, solely based off the way he interacted with others. Richie had only had one conversation with the guy and planned on keeping it that way.

Richie hated every person in the hospital except one man.

The one and only reason Richie hasn’t already attempted a breakout:

Eddie. 

He was professional but not obnoxiously so, worrisome but not in an overbearing way. Eddie himself was short but not too short, and he had a perfectly put together image. Ironed clothes, combed hair, shined shoes an office where everything had a set place. Typically people like Eddie drive Richie mad and he’d probably end up transitioning, because people who seem to be so _perfect_ make him sick. Nobody’s perfect, but Richie thinks, Eddie might be. 

Richie wanted to punch every person in the damned hospital, minus of course, Eddie. 

Everyday Richie met with Eddie for an hour, so far the two of them haven’t gone into too deep of topics. Sure, they’ve scratched the surface of his disorder. But not to the point where Richie is uncomfortable, Eddie seems to be waiting for Richie to open up to him about it. Richie appreciates that more than he thought he could with something so small. When they’re together Eddie doesn’t even force him to speak, but he does by choice, saying anything that pops into his head. Eddie never seems to mind his random comments.

Richie dreaded every moment he was in the hospital, every second but those spent with Eddie.

Richie has been in a good amount of therapist’s offices over the years, and looking back he thinks all of them look the same. The same gray walls, the same black shelves stacked with mind games and fidgets, the same judging look on his therapists face. But on his second day when Richie stepped into Eddie’s office it was a completely different story. 

It was a simple room that wasn’t big but not necessarily small either. There were long bookcases on the walls perpendicular to the door, each shelf stacked high with books and knick knacks. Along with a large bay window directly across from the entrance, topped with black throw pillows and two plush blankets that aren’t folded but seem to be meticulously put in place. In front of that was a simple wood desk, covered in picture frames that face away from where Richie can see their contents. Closest to the door were two gray couches, that face one another, a glass coffee table between them. 

And that’s where Richie found himself now, laid back into the couch cushion with his feet propped up on the table. He had shown up to his session with Eddie 10 minutes early, like he usually did. Being early is something new for him, but the extra time with Eddie was worth the change. When Richie walked into the office today he was given that same smile he’d grown used to Eddie greeting him with, and Eddie claiming he had to run to the break room and rushing out the door.

Richie played with a small toy he’d come to learn as a fidget in his time of therapy. It was multicolored and each piece reminded him if a macaroni noodle, and they all fit together tightly. A logo was plastered on one of the parts, _Tangle Jr._ Richie almost rolled his eyes at the name though he wasn’t sure why, it was just ridiculous. 

_I woulda named it Mac n Cheese Puzzle but that’s just me,_ Richie remarks.

 _Do you know how many kids that would lead on? Sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen,_ Mike says.

Richie snickers aloud right as Eddie steps through the doorway, who glances at him sideways, as if he was afraid Richie was laughing at him. Richie was tempted to clarify that no, he would never laugh at him. But Richie hadn’t gone into detail about his relationship with Mike yet, or any other of his personalities beside _It_ , which was talked about upon Eddie's request. Sure, he assumes Eddie has an idea that Mike and Richie are having a constant conversation. There have been times already that Eddie has caught Richie laughing hysterically at something Mike said or heard Richie one of the times he accidentally cracks back at Mike out loud. As though Eddie can read Richie’s mind he asks,

“How many personalities do you have?”

 _Jumping right into it today, isn’t he?_ Mike remarks.

 _I wish he’d jump right into me today,_ Richie comebacks. 

Richie can almost feel Mike’s slap of disapproval and a bright smile breaks across his face. Mike had grown familiar with Richie’s strange, “I’m going to disgustingly hit on this person but only in my mind” antics over the years, though they still annoyed the hell out of him. Mike knew Richie only did it to get a reaction out of him, same as why he said or did nearly anything. In his mind and out loud alike. 

Richie gives Eddie a small shrug, “Got a few, two major ones, I guess. But _It_ is the only one that ever really fully takes over. The others seem content with just hanging out up here,” Richie gestures to his temple with a finger gun.

Eddie nods along, taking a seat across from Richie on the other couch and grabbing a small toy from the center of the table, “Yes, I’ve met _It_ , what about the other main one? Why haven't I met them?”

Richie can’t help the mischievous grin that forms on his face, “Oh Mike? He’s too pussy.” 

_First of all, watch your language, this is your therapist in the hospital not your best friend at the bar. And second of all, I will take control right now if you keep talking shit,_ Mike snaps. 

At that, Richie breaks out into loud cackles and Eddie grins at him even though his expression is obvious confusion. Richie has been told plenty of times before his laughter is contagious, and right now he’s pretty grateful it’s true. The soft smile it elicited out of Eddie makes Richie want to scream at how adorable he looks, _I wish you would stop calling him cute,_ Mike grumbles. Richie breaks out into soft laughs,

“No, Mike is great, we talk 24/7. He’s kinda like my best friend, well besides Bev. Mike keeps me from making a completely and utter fool of myself, well at least, sometimes he does.” Richie explains.

 _Stop that, I hate when you make me love you,_ Mike sighs. Richie grins at Mike’s words. 

Eddie seems troubled by Richie’s words, standing and walking over to his desk. He looks down at all the papers set there and scribbles something down with his eyebrows furrowed. Richie begins to worry if he said something he shouldn’t have, maybe he should not have admitted that he speaks to Mike so often. Eddie has an idea how just how wrong in his head Richie is and the judgement will start. Just when Richie was starting to give into the hope that Eddie is different than any therapist he’s ever had. 

After writing whatever it was Eddie had written out he studies Richie closely like he’s contemplating saying something to him but thinks better of it and slumps down into his chair. Eddie sighs, running a hand through his hair and muttering something to himself as he plucks a sticky note off of the black table top phone near the edge of his desk. 

“So ‘Bev’, is that a Ms. Marsh?” Eddie asks curiously.

Richie leans forward at that, meeting Eddie’s eyes and nodding eagerly, “Yeah! Miss Beverly Marsh, the love of my life.” 

_Stop calling her that,_ Mike sighs, _this is why everyone thinks you two are dating._

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, “She’s your girlfriend?”

That’s not the first time Richie has gotten that question and everytime he lets out the same obnoxious laugh, holding his stomach in pain at how ridiculous the notion of him and Bev dating is. He supposes that maybe in an alternate universe the two might be lovers, but in this dimension Bev is simply Richie’s best friend, been that way since he was 11. Richie thinks Beverly Marsh might just be his platonic soulmate, together till the end.

Once Richie’s fit of giggles dies down he smiles and explains, “No, not girlfriend, best friend, since like forever.” 

Eddie hums in response and gazes back at the yellow Post-It in his hand, “She called earlier today, asking to speak with you, she left a note.” He stands and steps back over to where Richie sits, settling himself down right next to the other and passing the paper to him.

Richie hesitantly takes the note from Eddie, which has about five or six sentences worth of Eddie’s perfect looping handwriting sprawled on it,

_Hey Rich, I finally got your deadbeat dad to tell me where they locked you up. Surprised it’s not a fucking prison, with how he was talking, what an asshole. Anyway, I talked to your therapist Dr. Cadillac or whatever about when I can visit you and he said wait till your second week, I’ll be there the first day they’ll let me in. The therapist did say I can call in whenever, he seems nice. Call me back when you get this, I’m worried about you, asshole. Love you._

A giddy smile forms on Richie’s face as he reads and he looks up at Eddie hopefully, “Can I call her now?” Eddie doesn’t even hesitate as he responds with a quick yes and rushes over to his computer, gesturing for Richie to follow over his shoulder. Richie jumps up after Eddie, excitement making his eyes brighten, _You’re such a child,_ Mike says exhaustedly.

“I choose to take that as a compliment.” Richie says, and when Eddie turns around to give him a questioning expression Richie tries hard to keep his blush down. _You can never keep your mouth shut can you?,_ Mike insults. 

_Would you please shut the fuck up Michael,_ Richie snaps back. It’s pretty difficult for Richie to be embarrassed but blurting out a sentence in the middle of a conversation with the voice in his head is something that will make Richie’s cheeks redden. Especially when he does so in front of his adorable, likable, kind therapist Eddie. _Stop hitting on your therapist in your head you fucking psycho_ , Mike says and Richie sighs. 

Instead of bothering to explain his out of context statement Richie only shrugs, praying that’ll be enough for Eddie. It seems to be, and the shorter man walks to the other side of his desk,

“You can call her with my phone, I’ll have to call the front desk and ask for her number.” 

Richie raises his hands and a proud grin forms on his face, “No need, Dr. K, I’ve got it memorized.” Eddie nods, and hands Richie the phone,

“Here, sit down.” He says, pulling out the office chair out and stepping back a foot or two. Richie gives him a grateful smile and rushingly types in Bev’s number, that he’s has memorized since he was 13. Holding the phone up to his ear Richie falls back into Eddie’s cushioned chair, knee bouncing as the phone rings. It takes three tones for Bev to answer,

“Hello, this is Beverly Marsh speaking.”

“Bevvie, no need to be so formal with wittle ole me.”

“Richard Tozier, could that be you?”

“Sure is, baby.” Richie smirks, he sure did miss Bev’s voice. _Tell her hi for me_ , Mike speaks up, Mike has always loved Bev too. He supposes it’s because Mike is a part of him, no ounce of Richie could hate Bev. Well, every cell except for the ones that make up _It_.

“By the way, Mike says hi. And that he misses you, even if he didn’t say that part out loud.” Richie says.

“Well tell Mikey I miss him too. And to keep track of my Trashmouth while he’s caged up in that dump.” Richie can hear the smile in her voice. 

“Oh Miss Marsh, this is no dump. As we speak I’m leaned back in a massage chair with a Margarita in my hand.” Bev’s soft laugh echoes through the receiver and Richie throws his socked feet up onto the top of Eddie’s desk cracking a grin. He hears Eddie scoff beside him and he gives Richie a thumb toward the door, mouthing, “I’ll give you two some privacy.” 

Richie smiles gratefully at him, mouthing back, “Get me some water, would you?” Eddie breaks out into giggles at that, fucking _giggles_. Richie wondered when his therapist became the death of him. As Eddie walks out of the room with his lanyard in hand Richie watches him go, it’s the first time he takes a moment to admire the way his khakis perfectly fit his- _Richard Wentworth Tozier don’t you fucking dare finish that thought,_ Mike practically yells. Richie laughs loudly at that and Eddie glances back at him as he exits through the door frame. 

“Richie? Are you still there?” Bev questions through the phone. 

“Of course I am, baby, was just having a little chat with Dr. K.” Richie says leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. 

“He seemed nice,” Bev offered, “Your therapist, Dr. K, or whatever.” 

Richie nods enthusiastically even though Bev can’t see, “Beverly, you should see him. I think I might just be in love.” Mike snickers at his dramatics, _You’re hopeless, Tozier._ Richie’s laughter returns at that and he glances across Eddie’s desk and the picture frames covering it. His eyes freeze on the three stacked to his left, in each photo it was Eddie with some man. One of which was a selfie, the two smiling brightly. Another is them at maybe the Grand Canyon, sitting on a ledge and Eddie leaning into the other guy’s shoulder. The last is the two at what seems to be a gay pride parade, arms behind each other’s heads and kissing. Eddie has a _boyfriend?_

It annoys Richie that a light wave of jealousy washes over him and settles uncomfortably in his stomach. He doesn’t want to know why he’s feeling jealous over something so small, that has absolutely nothing to do with him. So what his therapist has a boyfriend? He’s known the guy for three days, why should he care? _You shouldn’t,_ Mike says simply. And Richie hates to admit that he’s right. His thoughts are interrupted by Bev telling him with a laugh,

“Easy there buddy, we both know love at first sight is bullshit.” Silently Richie wonders how Eddie and his boyfriend met. Richie quickly shakes that from his mind before Mike can put in a word about it.

“Right you are Miss Marsh, but man is this guy beautiful.” Richir can hear Bev scoff and they fall easily into a conversation. Richie jokes and Bev tells him how work has been for her since they had last seen each other, which is busy as fuck. Seeing as it’s about six months from spring, wedding season, it makes sense. Bev works at a popular bridal shop, though her dream is to design clothes, street wear and wedding dresses alike. Richie doesn’t talk about what it’s like living at the hospital, and Bev doesn’t ask, which he’s grateful for. Richie thinks they only talk for about 10 minutes before he realizes this phone call is cutting into his session with Eddie, the only time of day he actually looks forward to. And as much as he’s enjoying talking to Bev he’s not ready to throw away the precious time gossiping about her coworkers.

“Listen Bev, I love you, you know that, but your burning my sweet time with the Doc. I’ll try to call you after, that okay?” Richie asks.

“Of course it is Rich, have fun talking about your feelings or whatever.” she responds, “Love you, Tozier.”

“Love you too, Marsh.” and with that Richie puts the phone down, ending the call. Richie stands, giving one last look to Eddie’s photos and taking a seat back on the couch. He only sits there for about a minute before Eddie returns, a cup in his right hand and a can in the left. He hands Richie the small plastic cup and sits down at his desk, taking a moment to straighten the phone. Eddie opens a drawer and plucks out a straw, placing it in his Spite. _God, he’s so gay._ Richie thinks.

 _You only say that because you_ know _he’s gay_ , Mike states. 

_Maybe_ , is all Richie responds with.

“So,” Eddie starts, “That was fast.”

“Yeah, she had to go. Work stuff.” Richie lies easily. It probably wasn’t a complete lie, but he knows damn well that if Richie wanted keep talking with Bev she would’ve stayed on the line. Even if it meant she’d get fired. 

Eddie nods in acknowledgement, taking another sip of his drink. He leans back into his chair, crossing his legs and taking in a deep breath. It’s then that Richie realizes just how tired Eddie looks, he has a thick frown on his lips and the pads under his eyes are swollen with a lack of sleep. Richie wonders how he still manages to look so breathtaking even with those physical setbacks. And in all honesty, if Richie could, he’d wipe the tired smudges right out from under Eddie’s eyes, and maybe give that grimace a kiss for good measure.

 _Jesus Christ, Richard_ , Mike sighs, exasperated.

Richie gives him a soft, teasing, chuckle, _And hell, if he wanted to I’d let him do much more with those pretty lips of his._ Richie fights back a loud giggle and he can practically hear Mike’s irritated response bubbling in his throat. But before Mike can nag him about “how inappropriate it is to mind flirt with his therapist” Richie glances down at his cup. Where he notices bubbles of fizz popping around the rim, and Richie looks back up to Eddie.

“Is this pop?” Richie asks excitedly.

Eddie’s eyes are bright as he says, “Yeah, technically patients aren’t allowed carbonated drinks but I’ve always preferred making patients feel like they’re not prisoners over following the rules.” 

Richie smiles appreciatively at his therapist, this is why he felt himself falling head over heels for Eddie, in a total 'patient looking up to his doctor because he’s the best man he’d ever met' kind of way, obviously. Richie takes a long swig from the cup, finishing all the liquid in one gulp. _God, you’re such an animal,_ Mike sighs.

 _In more way than one, baby,_ Richie cheekily rounds back with, receiving a groan from the other. 

Eddie eyes Richie with an unreadable expression, leaning forward while taking the straw out of his can and putting it between his teeth. He holds his empty hand out at Richie expectantly, at which Richie only raises an eyebrow in confusion. _He’s offering to refill your cup, dipshit_. Mike tells him.

 _Why wouldn’t he just say that?_ Richie ponders and Mike shrugs in equal confusion. 

Richie hands his empty cup to Eddie, smiling. Eddie takes the cup from Richie, returning the expression with a small smile, filling the plastic cup to the brim with Sprite. When he’s done Eddie hands the cup back to Richie who accepts it and takes another drink from it, not quite as much this time. A question itches at the back of Richie’s mind and he pushes it away before his big mouth gets the best of him. 

The two ease into the session, Eddie asking his required questions of, _‘How was group therapy?’, ‘Did you take your medications this morning?’, ‘How are you feeling?’, ‘Are you getting settled into your room nicely?’_. Richie answers each simply with, _‘Good.’, ‘Yes.’, ‘Fine.’_ and _‘Yeah, it’s alright.’_. Then they conversate about anything and everything Richie feels comfortable talking about. Which mostly consists of Richie’s cigarette withdrawals and him recalling stories of Mike keeping him out of trouble, and his other personalities getting him _into_ trouble. Eddie breaking in having a question every so often and laughing along with Richie. 

About half way through the 40 minutes they had left when Richie ended the call with Bev he can’t help himself anymore, that question kept nagging at the back of his head. At one point he just couldn’t take it, and even though Mike told him it was a horrible idea, and maybe even against his own better judgement he asks, “So, you have a boyfriend?”

Immediately Richie realizes he’s made a mistake, Eddie’s head snaps up so he can see Richie, though he doesn’t make direct eye contact, eyes returning his desk. When Richie had seen the look in Eddie’s gaze it wasn’t what he had expected. It wasn’t anger that Richie had been snooping or frustration that he was poking into Eddie’s personal life. Instead what Richie saw was fear, and maybe even some sadness. Eddie looks up at Richie sheepishly, muttering out a,

“That… That’s not a problem, is it?” And with that simple question it all makes sense to Richie, who, for a moment is affronted by his words. Richie’s definitely not a homophobic person, and if Eddie could see inside his mind he’d know that quite clearly. Richie swallows his pride and decides that getting that devastated expression off Eddie’s face is more important than being offended and burts out,

“No, no! Not at all! Hell, I’ve sucked more than a couple dicks in my lifetime. And that’s not me being metaphorical.” Eddie’s eyes widen at the brashness of Richie’s words, a small blush forming on his cheeks. _How would that even be metaphorical, Richard?_ Mike grumbles. 

Richie thinks for a moment, _You know, like a kiss-ass, only a dick-sucker._

_I hate you._

_Fair enough._

Eddie looks incredibly relieved at Richie’s words, even if they are disgusting and far too forward for talking to his therapist. Eddie relaxes in his seat, glancing at the framed photos on his desk,

“Oh thank God,” Eddie breathes out, “I was worried that you would ask for someone else.” 

“Ask for someone else?” Richie is puzzled by Eddie’s concerns. Ask for someone else, what does that even mean? For a quick moment Richie wants to stand up and hug Eddie’s fears away, but he knows better of that without Mike having to tell him so.

“For someone else to be your therapist. It’s happened a couple times, patients find out I’m gay, ask for someone else to talk to.” Eddie sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m being so unprofessional.” 

Richie wants to tell Eddie that he’s perfectly okay with him talking about this, it obviously bothers him, he should talk it out. But Mike shuts him down before he can say a word, _He’s right Richie, he shouldn’t be dumping his drama on you._ Richie nods slowly, Mike is probably right. Mike is always right. 

After that interaction they go back into the flow of the session, Richie explains what he can about his other personalities, mostly Mike. Before this Richie had never liked visiting and talking with his therapists. But Eddie was different. Past therapists walked around him like he was a wild bear, some told him his diagnosis wasn’t even real. Other’s told him he talked too much about things that had nothing to do with the ‘task at hand’ and would force him to rate his feelings on a chart and write out all his feelings from the week. 

Eddie is a therapist though who completely accepts Richie’s illness, and seems determined to help in any way he can. Eddie has never once told him he’s off topic, seeming content with the fact that Richie’s speaking to him at all. And what Richie likes most about Eddie as a therapist is he has never asked him to write down his feelings, or to explain the reasoning behind why he feels those feelings. 

By the end of the session Richie is dreading leaving out into those horrible white halls. Eddie tells Richie he can keep the _Tangle_ fidget toy, seeing as he’s had it in his hand the whole hour and apparently is the only one that’s ever used it. They finish up their time together by Eddie walking with Richie to the office door and giving him a quick goodbye before shutting the door behind the retreating boy.

And as Richie left Eddie’s room that day he had two realizations.

He absolutely adored Eddie,

And that meant if _Richie_ loved Eddie, _It_ would hate Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Come let me know what you think on my Tumblr or Twitter, @adoolress (same @ for both)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry this took so long. Next chapter is already half way written so:)

Richie slumped back in his chair, letting out a loud sigh, which caused the woman across from him to glance up. She looked beyond impatient with Richie, annoyance was painful on her face. Richie knew he could easily just make a move, and she’d go back to tolerating him. But he was _bored_.

“It’s been your turn for 10 minutes, just move your checkmate.”

He could do that, she wouldn’t be able to jump him if he did so but another part of Richie wanted to drag this out for as long as possible, _You’re insufferable_ , Mike sounds just as defeated as the woman sitting at the over side of the table looks. Richie shifts forward in his chair with mock concentration, 

“I’m strategizing, McKenna.” 

“My name is Makayla.”

“Right.”

Richie moves one of his checkers, not the checkmate, which he chooses only to go against what Makayla had suggested. He finds weird satisfaction in irritating her, not just her though, really anyone at anytime. In the hospital he’s learned it’s his one of his only forms of amusement. Purposefully calling the other patients by any name but theirs, pretending not to hear people when they talk to him, and his favorite: copying what people say in whatever odd voice pops into his head.

He’s been in the ward for nearly a week now, it's the evening of his 5th day. Richie isn’t sure exactly what time it is but he’s finished two games of checkers with Makayla since dinner. Both of which Richie lost, not that he’d admit that to anyone, especially himself. Richie has always been a sore loser. 

The two went on like that for a while, Makayla’s turn going by quickly and Richie procrastinating his move. He wondered how much longer Makalya would put up with this charade until she lashed out at him and stomped off to her room. Richie hoped it was soon, because this back and forth was even becoming annoying for him. 

She had told Richie to hurry up again and just as a slightly incorrect version of her name was about to leave his lips her expression completely changed. Makayla’s eyes were trained on something behind Richie’s head, and without thought he whips around in his chair to see what. 

_Oh, that makes sense._

Henry had just stumbled into the room, eyes scanning around angrily, presumedly for something to take his obvious frustrations out on. Richie turned back to look at Makayla as she slumped down into her chair and he instinctively straightens to block her from Henry’s view as much as possible.

 _Really?_ Mike sighs, _You pick now to go all hero? That guy could easily beat you to a pulp if he wanted to._

Richie wants to shrug back, but doesn’t in conscious of someone else seeing. 

“I fucking hate that guy,” Makayla says quietly, “He says that because I’m mixed I’m the result of something unholy. But he’s a fan of the ass I was gifted from my black mother, I’ve caught him staring.”

Richie feels himself let out a low laugh at that, one that Mike quickly follows with, _Jesus fuck, what, does this guy not realize it’s no longer the 1960s?_ Mike sounds incredibly mad, which is unnerving for Richie to hear. Richie hates anger.

 _With that hair I would’ve guessed he’s living in the 70s,_ Richie snarks, silently hoping the joke will bring Mike down a bit. And it seems to, because Richie receives a soft hum as a response.

Richie’s brought out of his mind by Makayla straightening in her seat, giving Henry, who’s now making his way over to their table, a harsh glare. Richie braces himself, ready to defend the girl across from him if he needs to. Not that he wasn’t sure Makayla could fight her own fights, but this dickbag wasn’t exactly on his good side either.

Henry walks straight up to where Makayla sits, giving her an equally deadly stare. Richie wonders if the other man even noticed him sitting there, his eyes never leaving Makayla. For what Richie thinks might be 30 seconds they only use their eyes, it’s as if they are trying to throw punches with just their looks. That’s what it was until Henry makes a horrible retching sound and spits on the table, dangerously close to the edge. Richie thinks maybe Henry’s intention was to hit Makyala but he has shit aim.

Richie starts speaking before he can think it over, “Hey! What the fuck was that?” 

Both Henry and Makayla’s gazes snap over to Richie, Henry’s eyes hold fury, while Makyala’s seem to be pleading. _She’s probably hoping you’ll walk away from this, so you don’t get hospitalized by this guy_ , Mike states, clearly agreeing with what he’s assuming.

 _I’m already in a hospital,_ Richie quips back.

 _You know what I mean, Richard._

He does know what Mike means, but he doesn’t care. He hates the man in front of him, and has every intent of fighting him after what he just pulled. Richie doesn’t keep Henry’s attention for long though, and he turns back to Makayla,

“Listen, you little-”

“I asked you a fucking question Bowers. Do I need to repeat myself?” Richie tries to will his frustration down, but he can feel angry heat rising to his cheeks. 

Henry rounds on Richie again, stare fiery, and Richie stands up from his chair. The screech of his chair scraping on the tile floor is the only sound that echoes through the room. They’re making a scene and they both know it, but neither are willing to back down. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, _Giggles_ , talking to me like that?” Richie hates that nickname, truly despises it, Henry’d introduced it to him the first time they spoke. And Henry using it now only makes Richie more furious. He can almost feel _It_ under his skin, egging him on, in hope of taking over. Distractedly Richie pulls up the sleeve of his hospital issued baby blue jumper and scratches his nails deep into the exposed skin. Out of the corner of his eye Richie can make out Makayla studying his arm, eyeing all the light crescent scars there. Richie is grateful for Henry keeping his glare steadily on Richie’s own.

“Huh? _Giggles_ , whadda looking at?” In a last fearful attempt to keep himself grounded Richie digs his nails in deeper, feeling the painful sting of them piercing into his skin. And before Richie can process more than that Henry’s fist is flying straight to his nose, smashing painfully into the bone. It knocks Richie back, and he stumbles to the ground, pure and burning anger bursting in his chest. 

Richie feels _It_ begging to gain control, and doesn’t fight it. He allows _It_ to pull him away.

Richie hates anger.

_Click._

Pennywise is off the floor almost the moment it hits the cold linoleum, lunging at the man that hit it. It loves this, it really does, the anger flowing through the blood in it’s veins, hands shaking with anticipation of choking the life out of something. Or on this lovely day, some _one._

If there was one thing Pennywise could agree with Richie on, it was that this man in front of him deserved to be punched, _hard._ Over and over and over. Maybe it could even throw in the use of a metal bat if it was so lucky. It loved a good metal bat beating.

When Pennywise makes contact with the man it throws him to the ground, landing on top of _Henry,_ if it recalled correctly. It uses the man’s moment of stunned parailization to grip onto the collar of his shirt and punch him hard on the bone above his eye. The feeling hurts, but it’s the kind of pain Pennywise simply adores. In fact, it’s body itches with the want for more, or more accurately, the _need_ for more. It wheels it’s arm back and throws another fist at the man’s jaw, feeling the satisfying snap of his teeth smashing together. 

By now, Henry has his arms pushing and grabbing at Pennywise, desperate to get it off. But it’s not going anywhere, it uses all its weight to shift and pin the man’s arms down with its knees. Pennywise lets out a loud laugh when Henry’s eyes bulge fearfully after it moves it’s hand from gripping his shirt to around his throat. 

There’s someone behind Pennywise, yelling _“Richie stop!”_ like a mantra, and it makes it’s skin crawl in annoyance. Though the terrified tone is delicious music to Pennywise’s ears. As it is pulling it’s arm back for another hit someone grabs it’s elbow. The hold is small, but firm. Pennywise yanks out of it easily, throwing it’s hand back to backhand whoever it was interfering with it’s current, exciting task. 

_Smack!_

The sound is loud, and Pennywise knows that it hit it’s target on the cheek. With a bony back slap, and a powerful frustration fueled one at that. Hungry to see the expression that belongs to the pained squeak it heard in response to the hit it throws it’s head back. 

Even upside down Pennywise instantly recognizes the face of Eddie, the therapist Richie fonds over constantly. _Disgusting_ , it thinks. The man has his jaw cradled in his hand, eyes wide and wet with tears. Pennywise hopes that’s because of both pain and fear. Something along the lines of shock bites through it when it looks into Eddie’s eyes, Pennywise doesn’t find terror or agony, but something entirely different. Confidence?

“ _It?_ ” The smaller man asks quietly and Pennywise lolls it’s head forward once more, an obnoxious cackle escaping it’s lips. Ah yes, the disagreeable codename Richard has gifted Pennywise, as though he has the fear that saying it’s name will call it to power. Standing, Pennywise smashes it’s heel into the lower peck of Henry’s chest, successfully keeping him pinned to the ground. Turning to glower down at Eddie it sees the man standing upright, fists tight at his sides. Pennywise finds thick satisfaction in the fact that it still looks _down_ at him, even if the difference only a couple inches.

Eddie looks hopeful for a moment and Pennywise lets out a loud laugh in his face. The optimistic expression drops from Edde’s face and his nose crinkles in what Pennywise deciphers as annoyance. Every muscle in it’s arm wants to give a swift blow to that tiny, button nose, something about the feature begs to be broken. 

“No,” Pennywise says as it pulls Eddie by the arm, causing him to stumble forward, now only a foot between the two, “My name is Pennywise.” And for a moment Pennywise sees triumph in Eddie’s wavering gaze. 

Pennywise leans down close to Eddie’s head, taking in a deep breath of his hair, relishing in the discomfort plastered on the man’s face. Eddie looks ready to say something, but doesn't. Instead he stays quiet, staring hard into Pennywise’s eyes. Eddie’s right cheek is red and raw from Pennywise’s earlier strike and as it realizes this another laugh escapes it’s throat.

“You think you know me, don’t you? Well you don’t. You’re just a man with a paper on his wall saying he knows how to read people. But I’m not a person. And you can’t read me like your other books. You aren’t anything special, Mr. Kaspbrak.” Pennywise can tell the last sentence of his small speech hits Eddie painfully, who’s face pinches in bitter remembrance. _He’s been told that before._

“I want Richie back.” is all the man says, causing Pennywise to cackle menacingly. It moves it’s hand to Eddie’s burning cheek, cupping the bone of his jaw lightly. Eddie’s eyes brighten with optimism, _he thinks he’s won. He’ll never win._ Pennywise lowers its head once again, close to Eddie’s ear whispering a quiet, 

“You’re nothing special.”

Immediately the positive expression overtaking Eddie’s face turns to a negative one. A self conscious, unsure look. Timidly he repeats, “I want Richie back.”

Pennywise assumes this is a tactic he’d used in the past with DID patients, ask for the host back. It wouldn’t work with it though. Not with Pennywise. It was sure Eddie had never dealt with anything like it. So his practices with other people won’t work in this case, and Pennywise could easily prove that to Eddie. 

But where’s the fun in that?

Pennywise lets it’s neck go slack, head falling forward and collapsing to its knees. Behind it, it hears Henry scramble to his feet and the retreating echo of his footfalls. A pleased smile spreads across it’s face but Richie’s long black hair blocks it from Eddie’s view. Pennywise blinks rapidly, and Richie’s years of theater came in handy. The body naturally reacts and tears are falling from it’s eyes. Slowly, it raises its head, letting out a quiet and strained,

“Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyes brighten and an accomplished smile spreads across his face, he bends down and places a hand on Pennywise’s shoulder, “Richie? Hey, it’ll be okay. It’s gone.” 

Pennywise fights back the wicked grin threatening to take shape on its lips, yes, he’s exactly where I want him. 

Oh this was going to be fun.

_Click._

When Richie wakes up he’s not sure where he is, though it’s familiar. He’s not in his room back home, it’s too bright in this room. Richie’s not on Bev’s living room couch, it doesn’t smell like her in here. And he’s not in his bed at the hospital, the cushions beneath him are much too comfortable. In curiosity Richie turns his head to the side, surveying the room. His left arm is outstretched onto the couch next to him, and someone works carefully at something there. Richie doesn’t have his glasses, which means one of two things, _It_ broke them or Mike took over. 

It doesn’t take long for Richie to realize the person beside him is Eddie, and that he’s in Eddie’s office. He takes a moment to just watch Eddie and feel the tips of his fingers brush along Richie’s exposed forearm every so often. After a few minutes Eddie seems to sense Richie staring and eyes him through the corner of his eye, “How’d you sleep?” 

Richie tries to sit up, but his head protests with a piercing ache, and he knows he was punched in the face at some point. That would explain the absence of his glasses. Richie had been punched many times over the years, and even though he’s never in conscious control when it happens he knows it’s a shitty experience. Because everytime _It_ gets its ass whooped Richie has to deal with the after pains. Letting out a heavy sigh Richie ignores Eddie’s question in favor of his own, “What happened?” 

Eddie hums in consideration, hands and eyes still working to bandage up the small scratches on Richie’s forearm. Richie keeps his gaze there as well, watching as Eddie’s fingers move in what seems to be practiced, recognized movements. 

“Someone got you into quite the fight,” Eddie says, looking up at Richie, who’s eyes become trained on the light red bruising of Eddie’s right cheek.

Richie’s hand is on Eddie’s face before he realizes he’s moved at all. Eddie winces away slightly, but not in discomfort of the touch, rather in pain of the contact. Richie knows that _It_ took over, and he also knows exactly what happened for Eddie to have the mark. He knows this without anyone having to tell him, but he’s still afraid to ask. As if able to read his mind, Eddie nods his head slowly, a sad glint in his eye.

Something Richie would never admit outloud is that he’s kind of a cry baby. Always has been. His emotions just get the better of him, and everything seems to end in tears. Angry at his father? Crying. Scared that Bev will never speak to him again after a transition? Crying. Wallowing up in his own suffering and mental illness? Crying. Ashamed beyond words that his other personality hit his therapist? Crying. Hard. 

The tears break over heavily, shameful and furious. Shameful that he let this happen, furious at himself for the same reason. Guilt twists his gut uncomfortably, making him want to throw up.

“I’m so sorry.” Richie mutters out.

“It’s not your fault.” Eddie reassures quickly.

“Yes, it is. I let _It_ take over.” Richie expects anger, hopes for it. After all, he had practically invited someone to get hurt. But Eddie’s always a surprise to him. Eddie raises an eyebrow, and instead if the mad expression he expected, Richie receives one of genuine curiosity.

“Interesting,” Eddie breathes, standing, sometimes Richie actually forgets he’s just another puzzle to Eddie. A complex puzzle next to millions he’s already solved. And solving them is his job. Solving _Richie_ is Eddie’s source of income.

“It’s okay though Richie, I got you back.”

Richie’s thoughts stop racing at that, ‘ _I got you back’._

“What do you mean?” 

Eddie’s smile is a proud one as he explains, “I asked for you back, and _Pennywise_ , as he calls himself, gave you control.”

 _No._ No, no, no, no, no. _It_ would never do that, its playing with Eddie. Why, Richie doesn’t know, but he won’t let Eddie be dragged along by _It_ ’s evil intentions.

“No it didn’t. It just wants you to think that.”

Eddie gives Richie a light glare, which the later wasn’t expecting. It causes Richie to tense back into the couch, begging for it to swallow him whole so he can escape this conversation. Eddie clearly doesn’t want to hear Richie’s reasoning, as he excuses him by saying,

“They want you down in the disciplinary wing. Good luck.”

Richie left Eddie’s office without a goodbye, which he didn’t entirely mind. Avoiding his problems had always been how he rolled. 

 

Eddie was stubborn, and incredibly so. Richie couldn’t be the one to judge really, hell, he doesn’t recall a time he’d ever backed down from anything. But Richie felt himself becoming a bit frustrated, their session today had been later than usual, Eddie’s last of the day. He seemed irritated and exhausted, and kept prying Richie about _It._ Which was so uncharacteristic for Eddie, who usually didn’t seem to care if Richie spoke a word of his DID. 

After that hour with Eddie Richie needed a break, and he set himself lazily on one of the couches in the recreational room, lazily fidgeting with his _Tangle Jr._ It’s been two days since the whole fight with Henry happened, and it seemed to have shed a new light on Richie in Eddie’s eyes. One that, Richie would do anything to turn back off. 

About 20 minutes into chatting carelessly with Mike, Richie grew restless, throwing his legs up over the back of the couch. Right as he did so Eddie sped out of the hallway and through the room, stopping at the doorway and giving Richie a long look before rushing toward the lobby. That definitely piqued the boy’s interest, wondering why on Earth Eddie was so quick to go to the front doors, and why he’d given Richie that look. Above all he wondered why for some reason Richie felt incredibly calm.

It wasn’t long after that Richie heard her voice, and saw the two walking in, side by side. Richie jumped from the chair without thought, beyond excited. He knew she had originally wanted to visit Richie, but he didn’t know she still planned to. Just seeing her, especially standing next to his beloved therapist- that no matter how stubborn, Richie still loved- made his heart soar. 

Bev was shorter than Eddie, but not by much. She had her bright blue eyes focused on Eddie as he spoke, engrossed in whatever he was explaining to her. Richie took in the image for a second, his best friend talking to his- well, he wasn’t quite sure what Eddie was to him at this point. Of course, he was Richie’s therapist, but Eddie also felt like more than that to him. A friend, maybe? That didn’t seem to fit well either. 

Richie’s feet move quickly, and before Bev sees him coming he has her engulfed in an embrace. She lets out a loud laugh in his ear, hugging Richie back. Richie folds back slightly, lifting Bev into the air and kissing her cheek affectionately. Bev’s smiles from ear to ear, hugging Richie back tightly, “I missed you, Rich.”

“I missed you too, beautiful.” Richie compliments, radiating pure joy. 

Richie sets Bev back down, and for a moment they catch up. Bev excitedly telling him about how the shop is slowing down a bit and about her everlasting relationship with her boyfriend. This is the only connection he’s had to the world outside this building, and Richie basks in it. Richie says nothing as she rambles, only listens. He knows it’s not like him but he doesn’t want to speak, only wants to absorb the new information. Richie allows Bev’s soothing, familiar voice engulf his mind. Richie feels undoubtedly serene.

He guesses it’s been minutes, when it really only feels like a half a second to Richie. He knows that Bev will be leaving too soon, even if she stays for hours, it’ll be too soon for him. Richie wants her to stay here with him in the ward, though he knows that’s impossible. Eddie begins walking back toward the offices, gesturing for them to come with, “You want to show her around with me?” 

Richie responds with an eager nod. Hefollows happily a new bounce to his step now that Bev is here with him. For the first time, Richie is excited to walk through the white halls of the psychiatric ward. Bev’s presence always causes his mood to skyrocket, Richie hadn’t noticed how badly he needed to see her until now. Richie confidently intertwines their fingers, smiling as Bev gives his hand a comforting squeeze. Richie had never been more grateful for her love, and he hoped she was grateful for his too. Because Richie’s love for Beverly Marsh was always there, and only growing.

And somewhere his mind, Richie knows the same applies to Eddie Kaspbrak. 

Who he can’t help but fall in love with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I know it’s very soon for Richie to be falling for Eddie, that’s the point. Over all this is going to be a slow burn, at least in the “them getting together” angle. But with how emotionally unstable Richie is, I see him catching feelings hard and fast.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come let me know what you think on my Tumblr or Twitter, @adoolress (same @ for both)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the past ones, but so far it has been the most fun to write. I’ve been looking forward to it since I came up with the outline for this fic. Enjoy!

Richie wakes, groaning as his eyes flutter open. Admitting his feelings for his therapist, Eddie, even if it was only to himself ( _well and Mike_ ) in his mind, was difficult. In all honesty, it was incredibly embarrassing. And the dreams he kept having were even more so. What was he? A hormonal highschooler again?

As much as he wanted that to not be true in the slightest, he knew in some ways he was reliving his teenage years. Richie’s daydreaming was out of control, he kept thinking about how Eddie would bite the inside of his cheek in concentration. Or how Eddie would run his index finger over his eyebrows when frustrated. And most of all Richie thought about the breathtaking twinkle in Eddie’s eyes when he found something that interested him. 

Not all his thoughts remained that innocent though, and his mind liked to fabricate ways the two might end up making out. Plus more. Sometimes he’d be hovering over Eddie one one of the office couches, attacking the man’s neck. Other times he’d be seated on Eddie’s chair, the other on his lap. Their lips would be locked and Eddie’s hands curled in Richie’s hair. And if his mind went far enough, he’d imagine pushing Eddie up against his desk, flipping him around and bending-

 _I swear to fuck this is the worst_ , Mike intterupts.

Richie had hesitantly admitted he was in love with Eddie and Mike was not happy about it thus far.

 _I cannot believe I let this happen, with him of all people,_ Mike had sighed, sounding defeated.

_It’s not your fault Eddie is just so adorable, I could just eat him up. Literally._

_You’re so fucking disgusting, Richard, I hate you_

_Correction, you love me._

Richie had been at the ward for just under two weeks now, and he has yet to be able to have any sort of sexual release, and he kept having _thoughts_ and _dreams_ with no way to finish what those things started. And Richie knew exactly what being sexually frustrated meant for him in terms of his DID.

 _Come on, Mikey? Rich? Pretty please?_ Her voice peeps up from the back of his mind.

 _No way in Hell,_ Mike answers for him, and Richie nods in agreement. 

_You boys never let me have my fun_ , She whines obnoxiously.

 _Not here you definitely aren’t having any_ fun, _Richie is not having sex with anyone here,_ Mike declares sternly. 

_Well actually,_ Richie jokes, _If Miss Makayla asked me-_

 _Just shut the fuck up Richard, you aren’t helping,_ Mike interrupts.

 _You guys are bullies,_ She grumbles and Richie promptly pushes her out, tired of the desperate girl.

 _Thank you,_ Mike sighs, he also seems relieved at her absence.

Awkwardly, the dream still fresh on his mind, Richie climbs out of his bed. He wasn’t exactly aware where his feet would bring him, but he wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon, he knew that for sure. Lazily, Richie wandered through the halls with no destination. 

The sun wasn’t quite up yet, and the halls were empty. An eerie silence was present in the building and it made Richie wish he had his phone and earbuds for what felt like the 1000th time since he got to the ward. Music was something he loved to bury himself in, and going so long without it made him antsy. He had songs stuck in his head everyday that he buzzed to listen to. 

Today, as he walked, he had a rhythm stuck in his head. Richie couldn’t place the song, but he drums the beat on his thigh. He’d gone down a couple unfamiliar corridors, coming across an area that had windows from ceiling to floor. Outside, there were hedges covered in snow and leafless trees. Richie guesses that in the warmer seasons it’s an outdoor garden. Silently he wonders if he’ll be in this place long enough to see it in bloom. 

He thinks he can imagine it, blossoming flowers, vibrant green bushes, dirty stone paths, tall fruitful trees. Richie feels it in himself that he kind of hopes he gets to see it one day. That instead of staying cooped up inside the chalk white walls of the ward, he could be outside, lounging under the shade of the maple trees. Maybe he and Makayla could move their, now regular, games of checkers outdoors. Richie could even pick her a flower for good measure.

Ever since the fight he had with Henry, Richie and Makalya had grown closer. She reminds him a bit of Bev, but their relationships are the complete opposite. When Richie and Bev are together they’re constantly talking, joking at and teasing each other. But when Richie is with Makayla they’re quiet, and just bask in each other’s company. After what happened he had initially expected fear from the woman, because well, _It_ had beaten someone’s face in right in front of her. But there was no fear, she appreciated what Richie did for her and she understood that it wasn’t truly him with all the blood thirst. Richie supposes that’s another way her and Bev are different.

Richie settles himself down, back against the window, the cold of the glass sending a shiver through his body. He pulls his face to the side, resting his cheek against the surface, gazing outside. The temperature from the window gives Richie a comfortable chill, calming him significantly. Something about the feeling makes his eyelids heavy, which surprises him. When he first woke up today he felt completely wide awake, but something about the cold of the weather made him drowsy once again.

Based on the amount of light in the sky, Richie assumes he has about 40 minutes left until the orderly would be waking him up. So Richie closes his eyes, drifting off into his mind. He dreams of being in the garden with Eddie.

 

Eddie didn’t always necessarily like his patients. Which, was to be expected, there no way for someone to enjoy the presence of every person they meet. But one of his most recent patients blurred Eddie’s line between like and dislike. 

Richie was, well, in a short term: obnoxious. But at the same time, he wasn’t, it was a confusing thing to Eddie. There were times when Richie would say something, and Eddie had the strong urge to flick Richie’s long slim nose in scorning. But he was also charming, in an odd, unplaceable way. And Richie’s seemingly always positive attitude was contagious and that made Eddie like him instantly. Overall, Eddie found himself enjoying his new patient Richie Tozier because he is beyond interesting.

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen a case quite like Richie’s. It’s intense, and in many ways terrifying. Mike doesn’t seem to be a threat, and neither do any of Richie’s other personalities. But Pennywise, or _It_ , as Richie prefers to call him, is a significant threat. Maggie was right when she said _It_ only shows itself when he grows upset. _It_ is violent, unpredictable and utterly bone chilling.

When Richie’s childhood friend, Beverly Marsh, visited earlier that week Eddie had asked for some alone time with her. Richie’s parents had yet to visit, and based off his father’s view on his son’s condition, Eddie doubted they would be coming anytime soon. He wanted to know as much inside information as he could on Richie, and Bev was his only source at the moment. 

-

Eddie was sat comfortably on one of his simple black couches, while Bev perched tentatively on the other. Eddie dearly hoped she had at least some helpful information on Richie’s severe case of DID. Maybe some background as to why he may have his personalities, most importantly _It._

“So,” Eddie starts, “How long have you known Mr. Tozier?” 

Bev glances up, and the look on her face suggests that she’s thinking it over. He wonders if that’s because she’s considering lying to him, or she just has a horrible memory. He supposes it’s most likely the former. 

“Since we were eleven, twelve, maybe?” Bev ponders, and Eddie reconsiders his ‘horrible memory’ theory, “He usually says we’ve been friends since preschool, not sure why though, because it’s not true.” 

Eddie hums thoughtfully at her, _interesting._ That could suggest some things, and his mind flooded with more questions. One question sticks out in the front of his mind.

“That is curious.” Eddie takes a moment to consider how to word his next sentence, “So, Richie’s parents, they haven’t contacted me since admitting him.”

He doesn’t outright ask the question, but Bev understands, a troubled expression on her face, “Yeah, it’s to be expected, honestly. They aren’t bad parents, per say. Maggie drinks sometimes, sure, but it’s not as bad as Richie makes it sound. And Wentworth has never been a super present dad, though to me it always seemed like he tried.

“But when Rich had his first transition, I think it all shifted. Maggie turned into a very timid person, and Wentworth, well, you met him.” Eddie nods and Bev continues, 

“He doesn’t believe in Dissociative Identity Disorder, or and mental disorder as far as I know. Wentworth thinks Richie uses it as an excuse for some, psychotic behavior. He’s uneducated, and judgmental, neither of them understand their son.” 

Eddie, for a moment, has a rush of sadness pass over him. It’s not the first time he’d heard something along the same lines as what Bev just told him. But for a reason Eddie can’t quite place, this particular case makes his heart ache. Ignoring it, he raises another question,

“Is that when it all started? That first transition?”

Bev shakes her head thoughtfully, “No, at least, I don’t think so. According to his mother he’s had an imaginary friend, Mike, since he was 6. After his cousin died, some sort of, swimming incident? He started doing ‘voices’ as she had called them back then. But now she admits it was probably his DID. That first transition didn’t happen until our freshman year.” She trails off, eyes far away, remembering what must have been a terrifying experience for them all. He couldn’t imagine encountering _It_ with no explanation as to why someone would act so impulsive.

Curiously Eddie asks for more, “And what about _It_? Do you know anything about that specific personality?”

For a couple seconds, Bev’s eyebrows knit together in concentration, like she’s trying to remember if she did in fact have any information on the topic. _Definitely a bad memory_ , Eddie concludes. 

“No I don’t know anything. I’m pretty sure _It_ just showed up one day, and decided to take over,” Bev says, her face suggesting that she felt useless, which she was the opposite of at the moment.

“Thank you Ms. Marsh,” Eddie sighs gratefully, “He doesn’t want to talk about it, I can tell. And for now, that’s fine, but eventually he’ll have to start talking.”

Bev nods in understanding, “Yeah, I’m not surprised. Richie’s not one to open up, but once he does, he’s a wide open book.” 

Painfully, Eddie’s thoughts rush back to his encounter with _It_ , and the things he said to Eddie. And how striking they were coming from Richie’s mouth, even if Eddie knew the boy wasn’t in control. What hurt the most is the memories the statements dug up.

_You’re nothing special, Eddie. I honestly don’t even know why I’m with you at this point._

Words Eddie thinks will sting him forever. Even if they weren’t intended to be so blatantly rude, which he knew they weren’t, he’d never forget. Eddie willed that thought away, now is not the time, he told himself.

“You know,” Bev starts, eying Eddie closely, “With how Richie is- with how, um, unstable he is- wait, am I allowed to say that?” Bev suddenly looks small and self conscious, worried she’d made a fool of herself. Eddie knew the feeling well enough to recognize it.

“Yes, if it’s what you feel fits, you are allowed to say whatever you’d like.”

“Well okay, yeah, with how unstable Richie is, he’s grown some unhealthy habits. One that is his horrible tendency to fall in love, so just be careful.”

Eddie cocks his head, “You’re afraid he’s going to catch feelings for another patient?”

Bev has a strange look on her face as she says, “Something like that.” 

“Well don’t worry Ms. Marsh, I have a close eye on him. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you Dr. Kaspbrak, for everything. I think you’re keeping him alive right now.”

-

Yes, Richie was indeed incredibly interesting, and Eddie was itching to know more. But the boy didn’t seem ready to talk, which would be okay for a little while longer, he supposed. Eddie didn’t need for Richie to directly tell him somethings about himself though, Eddie was an observant person.

Something that Eddie had caught onto pretty early on was that Richie hated being alone. After their sessions together Richie would always linger by the door, as if he hoped Eddie would ask him to stay for another hour. It was the beginning of Richie’s second week that he finally asked if he could spend more time with Eddie in his office, claiming that “ _every other room in this place makes me want to choke, and not in the good way._ ”

Eddie couldn't find it in himself to refuse, besides, he enjoyed the company. He had made it clear to Richie that he needed to use the hour after their session to work, and that he could remain there only if he was quiet. Richie hadn't hesitated in his compliance, rushing back to the couch with a wide smile on his face. 

That's where they were now, Richie’s session had ended about 20 minutes ago, and Eddie could hear him shuffling slightly as he wove string together. It was something Eddie had suggested, a simple task to keep Richie’s hands occupied. He could only weave here in Eddie’s office, as the yarn was not technically allowed anywhere in the ward. Richie was quick to learn, and his long, nimble fingers moved skillfully. _Musician’s fingers,_ Eddie assumes, _he must play the piano, or the guitar._

Eddie knows he had been being hard on Richie since his transition and fight with Henry, and he hated himself for letting his curiosity outweigh the importance of his patients comfort. The talk with Bev though, had caused him to ease, and Richie was starting to look calm while in his office once more.

These past few days though, Richie had been, off. He wasn’t making the same remarks as he used to, refused to look at Eddie for more than a couple seconds. And Eddie was worried, that at some point, he pushed too far. It never occurred to him Richie could be (and was) having inner turmoil. 

The two continued on in a comfortable silence, Richie working away at his task and Eddie at his own. Eddie didn’t notice when Richie’s fingers stopped in their tracks. He also didn’t notice the intensely strained expression Richie had, as if he was holding something back.

“No.” Richie said suddenly, and Eddie raised an eyebrow at the man, confused by the words that were clearly not meant for him. Eddie did realize those two things now, and immediately slight fear coursed through him. Why would _It_ come out now? 

There was sweat on Richie’s brow now, and Eddie was beginning to grow worried, “Rich? Are you okay?” Eddie didn’t mean to let the nickname slip out, he’d never called Richie that prior. And Eddie’s words snapped something in Richie.

For a split second, Richie’s entire face was slack, and blank, eyes empty. Then, just like that, a grin curved onto the man’s face, an unreadable gaze trained on Eddie. What Eddie assumed just happened, is that Richie transitioned. This definitely wasn’t _It_ , could it be Mike, maybe? 

Richie- or whoever this was- got to his feet, stepping over to Eddie’s desk, and he could’ve sworn there was a feminine sway in the walk. Richie stood still across from Eddie, looking the smaller man up and down, with what he could only place as a _hungry_ look.

“Richie?” 

When Richie spoke he didn’t sound like himself, instead, he had a higher pitched, southern accent.

“No, sir. Kicked him right out, the name’s Greta, darlin’.” Greta threw Eddie a wink, and Eddie couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his lips.

This wasn’t _It_ , this was something much funnier.

“It’s nice to meet you, Greta, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Eddie humors her.

Who, in cause of Eddie’s words, leans forward. He- _no_ , Eddie corrects himself. _She_ presses her palms to his desk, forearms pressing against the sides of her chest. If Richie had boobs, she’d be pushing them together. 

“The pleasures all mine, baby.” Greta slurs, still studying Eddie closely. Her eyes flashed down to Eddie’s lips and that’s when it all came together  
in his mind.

_Holy shit, she’s coming onto me. Is this what Bev was warning me about?_

Eddie has to hold back a laugh, the whole situation is utterly ridiculous. Greta speaks up again, a smile on her lips,

“Wow, Richie sure is right about you.”

Eddie has _no fucking clue_ what that’s supposed to mean, and while he wants to ask, he also feels it’s better not to know. At Eddie’s lack of a response, Greta pulls in even closer,

“And, God, look at those,” she utters, a hand swooping up to touch Eddie’s cheekbones, he can only assume she means his freckles. He curses himself for the small contact causing his heart rate to pick up. Greta put her face even closer to his, dropping a small peck on the tip of his nose. Eddie felt heat rise in his cheeks at the gesture. 

Greta pulls back rather quickly, a satisfied smile set on her lips. Her eyes trail over his face one last time before she spoke up again,

“Sorry hun, nothing more unless you pay up.” Greta had her arms crossed over her chest now.

_What?_

“You’re a prostitute?” Eddie blurts out before he could think twice about it.

Greta rolls her eyes, responding with a scoff-like, ‘duh’, as if it were obvious. Eddie honest to God, could not believe what was happening. Richie had never spoke about Greta before, and he wonders why. _Did she embarrass him?_

Greta clicked her tongue expectantly, propping one index finger into her mouth, sucking lightly.

_Yep, she definitely embarrasses him._

“Sorry no,” Eddie denies, and suddenly, he’s afraid he’ll hurt Greta’s feelings with an outright rejection. Is it rude to refuse a prostitutes clear infatuation? Eddie wouldn’t know. “I-I’m um, I’m gay,” he finishes, satisfied with his answer.

Greta doesn’t seem phased, “That’s right,” she muses, “Guess Rich gets to keep you to himself then.”

Eddie had no idea what _that_ meant either. Of course, he had just been feeding into Greta in that moment. She still, technically, had a penis, so that wasn’t the problem. Eddie felt it would be rude to point that out though, Greta was a woman, penis or no. He even thinks that maybe, if it were any other situation, he would’ve taken her up on the offer. He mentally kicks himself for thinking so inappropriately about his fucking _patient._

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Greta turns on her heel, making her way to the door.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asks on instinct, and Greta shrugs like she doesn’t truly care.

“Gotta take care of some things, see you later, Doc.” And with that, Greta shut his office door behind her.

Eddie leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath. A lot just happened, and it makes Eddie feel dizzy. He met another one of Richie’s personalities, whom was a prostitute of all things. And she was _flirting_ with Eddie. At that mental reminder, Eddie burst into a strong fit of giggles. That turned into full on barking laughs, he couldn’t hold in his amusement any longer,

_What the fuck just happened?_

 

For the second time that day, Richie wakes up in his uncomfortable twin bed. This time, with a quick start, shooting up into a sitting position. His head aches, and he attempts to will himself to remember what happened. Greta took over, that’s all he knows for sure. That alone worries Richie, and his concern doubles when he recalls that he was in Eddie’s office when she did so. 

Richie falls back onto his bed, praying that Greta didn’t try anything with Eddie. But knowing her, she definitely did try something. And finding out was going to be so completely humiliating, he can feel himself blushing at just the thought. 

He knew Greta at least did _something_ , with how his body was feeling, Richie just didn’t know the severity of that thing. 

_Mike? Do you know what she did?_

_Sorry bud, memories just as foggy as yours_.

Richie curses himself in that moment, why can’t he ever just _remember_. He fears Greta made a fool of him in front of his therapist. In front of his crush. Richie practically jumps out of his bed to go and apologize to Eddie. And just as he does, the door swings open.

“Ah, Richie, you’re awake. I’d like to see you in my office.”

And that’s when he knows, something went _horribly wrong_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Richie finally admits his feelings, Bev and Eddie talk and we learn some new info about Richie’s DID. AND Eddie meets another one of Richie’s personalities, it’s quite a lot. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come let me know what you think on my Tumblr or Twitter, @adoolress (same @ for both)


End file.
